The First Selkie
by Darling Summers
Summary: Many hundreds of years ago, a small fishing boat sank far off the West Coast of Ireland. What if selkies didn't evolve naturally? Based partially on Irish myth in later chapters.


_**A/N: **_I'm not overly happy with this post, as it was an old essay adapted from about five years ago. This evening, when I turned on my laptop to retrieve my Project Pull post, it crashed, leaving me without all of my fics- past, present and future, along with all my other files. Admittedly, the standard isn't up to my usual, but I'm feeling too upset to write anything from scratch just now. Well, this is this Friday's Project Pull post- you know the routine. Apologies again.

**_Chapter One- Transition_**

She descends slowly towards the ocean floor, frantic bubbles spiraling from her mouth. She is still unable to accept her fate, and kicks weakly at the water below, struggling for a non-existent foothold to climb back up to the surface with. Her dark hair forms a cloud of ebony curls, obscuring the panicked expression that no doubt adorned her face.

Really, you'd think they would know better by now than to enter the sea here, especially after all we've done to deter them in the past, but humans can be very stubborn creatures. The one thing they're terrified of is not knowing the reason behind things- not being able to explain away phenomena with a complicated list of facts and figures. Despite myself, I am curious, and I float closer to the wreck of the small fishing boat. This is the first time I've seen a fresh wreckage up close. I touch the recently splintered wood gently with a webbed flipper.

"Thrall! Get away!" my mentor hisses, and motions for me to rejoin the other students who make up the expedition. As I am a little older, my boundaries are slightly more lenient, but I know the mentor's stern tone of voice when I hear it.

"There could be somebody still under there," I mouth. The mentor makes a leap for me, and tackles me down to the rocky ground, where we both lie hidden behind the remains of the boat. I wince at the small cut that appears on my arm, but the blood diffuses harmlessly into the dark, murky water, the scrape itself clotting over almost instantly. The salt water makes it sting a little, but it's bearable.

"What do you think you were doing?" she chastises. "That was a serious breach of the rules I laid out! I'll tell you this, you won't be leaving the settlement for a long time." She does not notice one of the other students, Fua, approach her, and when he taps her on the shoulder, she lets out a piercing scream, sending another flurry of air bubbles towards the distant surface.

"I think she's taking to it," he tells her nervously, but fails to omit a tone of excitement from his voice. There is definite life in the human girl's eyes now; although the rest of her body remains paralyzed by the ocean's pressure, she follows the exchange between us with a sort of befuddled amusement.

Her features are morphing constantly, twisting into conflicting expressions of pain and euphoria, panic and acceptance. It's like that with all the new arrivals. Her features are slowly being distorted from grotesque human shapes to the smoother, more adaptable seal features that enable us to live under here. There's always still some trace of their origins in the new recruits. Eyes a little smaller, fur a little longer, tails a little shorter- it's not noticeable unless you know what you're looking for. I've been told I have a talent for it- I always know.

Despite these hopeful signs, I give a snort of derision. If she manages to survive the mutations unscathed, it will be nothing short of miraculous. In recent years, the transitional process has been affected by several deadly flaws, none of which have been explained by the most brilliant among us. Even after hundreds- thousands, maybe- of horrifically failed transitions, it's still a mystery.

Sometimes, the webbed appendages do not form properly, or form at all, leaving those affected without the use of their flippers, and more importantly, their tails. It's impossible to survive in the marine environment without the means to move quickly, when necessary, and most of them die within weeks. Occasionally, the gills don't fully usurp the lungs, and the human is unable to breathe in air or water. They're killed off in minutes.

Most of the time, they don't adapt to the pressure properly. They're fine for a few years- up to a decade or two, in some cases, but once it becomes clear that their body mass has not been able to adapt properly to the pressure of the tonnes of water surrounding them, they literally wither before your eyes. I know more than I need to about that one.

"This one's young. It might take hold properly," the mentor tries to reassure me halfheartedly upon hearing my expression of contempt. She seems to have forgotten about punishing me, so I don't complain. She slowly emerges from behind the boat, and nudges the girl with a hesitant nose.

"You'll need to get up now. Follow us." Without further explanation, we propel ourselves forward as a group in the water with an effortless thrust of our tails. Predictably, after a few yards, there is still no movement from behind us, and Fua paddles back loyally to the previously human girl. Despite the mentor's patented dirty look, half the group turned tail and swam after him, not without undue attention from those of us remaining. I am the only one who does not turn back.

It does not take us long to reach the settlement, and all of us let out a sigh of relief that we hadn't really been aware of holding. This is worlds away from the eerie silence of the shipwreck we have left behind. Shoals of domesticated, quicksilver fish zoom around their designated area under the watchful eye of a shepherd, while a small grey dolphin calf eyes them hungrily from where it is tethered. Fields of brightly-coloured fern and seaweed plants that we use to supplement our diet dot the outskirts, lending some sense of cheerfulness to the main residential area. Simple stone houses line the streets, walls dotted with treasures scavenged from larger wrecks. A disheveled silk curtain trails limply from a broken ship's mast, in lieu of a flag.

A few disapproving glances are sent towards us when they take in the extra member of our party, but most faces are merely filled with curiosity at the sight of this strange, ethereal being. We are ordered back to our homes- Fua looks mutinous, but he obeys nonetheless. I follow the order as well.

I never could have guessed that the arrival of this girl would signal my downfall. I might have tried to do something about it, if I had known- but what could I have done to prevent it?


End file.
